In My Eyes
by Haddie Brice
Summary: The fall of Troy as told by Briseis.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 Priestess Of Apollo**

The war had finally come. I could feel the ground beneath my feet tremble with the pounding of thousands of Greek sandals and the drums of the ships that were bringing still more strangers to my shores in the name of war. They came for her - the Spartan queen, now a Trojan princess whom my cousin Paris charmed away from her husband. The scorned king was determined to bring destruction to my country; to my people; to my family. The death of Troy was coming and tears filled my eyes, but I would not let them fall. I wept to Apollo, even while performing the sacred duties of an acolyte.

I was the virgin priestess, Briseis - beloved cousin of Paris the Charmer and Hector the Brave and Tamer Of Horses; cherished niece of the mighty King Priam. I am Briseis, Maiden of Troy, and this is my story.

They came. I could hear the sounds of war and killing grow steadily nearer. Younger acolytes began to cry and even the priests were starting to fear. Still the Greeks came ever closer. The priests finally sent the acolytes to hide themselves. Some tried to flee the temple, but I didn't. I was sure that they would be slain or captured and that it was better to stay in the temple. I believed that Apollo would save us if we did. The sounds of fighting and the coppery scent of blood finally reached my hiding place. I was about to move when I heard footsteps. I peeked around a column as a golden warrior walked calmly through the carnage. I was taken by his beauty. He looked as if he had been sculpted from stone by the gods. I would later learn that II had seen the half-god warrior known as Achilles. He was closely followed by a more cautious, darker figure; my cousin Hector! A moment later I heard their voices and their diminishing footsteps. I quietly followed as best I could.

I believed that my cousin was surely sent by Apollo himself to save me as he stood alone - confronting the legendary Achilles who was being backed by his famed Myrmidons. Anger overcame fear in my heart - so many men against one?! Wait! Achilles sent Hector away defeated, but alive.

Realising that my rescue was not come, I dashed from my hiding place and ran, deeper, deeper into the temple than I had ever been before - deep into the treasuries and tombs of the priests. I began to weep as I crouched in a deep shadow, but I grew silent as two rough voices echo through the sacred halls. Two of Achilles' men werhunting for items of value, pillaging and claiming spoils of the temple treasuries. They were crude and riotous as they came nearer to the place I was hiding. Just as I began to think that I would be spared; that Apollo was hiding me from their violent eyes and that they would pass by my hiding place, one of them turned and spotted the hem of my long white and blue robes in a patch of light. I held my breath and tried to be completely still as he drew nearer, his sword stained with the blood of soldier, priest and acolyte. I was sure that my life's blood would be added. He saw me and began to laugh. His partner joined him and laughed along, though I could think of nothing amusing.

Instead of sending me to the banks of the river Styx, they pounced on me like a pair of wild cats. They had me bound and thrown over one fellow's shoulder before I could struggle or cry out. I began to scream and fight my bonds as they passed the bodies of the dead priests. They brought me out of the dark temple and into the bright sunlight. Once I had blinked away the spots in my vision, I saw the full extent of the Achilles' disregard of the gods, for the golden statue of Apollo lay in pieces on the ground. I fought harder and screamed louder.

"Shut up!" one ordered, then backhanded me when I did not obey. The blow busted my lip open and stunned me into silence. I had never been struck before. Anger conquered my fear and stilled my tongue. The bodies of fallen soldiers, both Greek and Trojan littered our path and the smell of blood was nauseating. I had a sinking feeling that my life could be nearing the same end.  
I was carried down to the beach where thousands of ships rested in the sand like a giant pod of beached whales. I saw soldiers and slaves unloading the ships and setting up camps while kings were being tended to by female slaves and wounded men were being treated by surgeons.

The two soldiers carried me unceremoniously through all this to the last camp on the beach. It was different. Instead of beautiful tents, they used small drab huts and only a very few slaves - mostly male slaves - were working to unload the two small ships. The soldiers of this camp were different too; all of them had eyes like the clearest blue sky or like a gray-green sea and most of them had gold, red or light brown hair. The tooling and shapes of their armor reminded me of fish. I recognised the craftsmanship from the soldiers who had faced my cousin. These men were Myrmidons.

A man stopped the two brutes that were carrying me and questioned them. His blue eyes were filled with gentleness - like Uncle Priam's, and he took pity on me in my precarious situation. He took me from them and shouted a name. A boy, probably younger than Paris came running from his abandoned task. His unbound dark blond hair blew in the breeze and his storm-gray eyes appraised me, even as my own brown ones sized up him.

"Take her to your cousin's tent while I go and find him."

The young man, Patroclus led me to the largest of the small huts then gently ordered me to sit down against a pole near the back. He retied my wrists, but was much gentler with me and didn't tie the ropes so tightly. "My cousin will not harm you if you do not provoke him. He is a formidable opponent in battle, but gentle when finished with the fight. Even so, not even I would intentionally provoke him so soon after a battle." With that warning, he left and I heard his joyous cry just past the doorway. His cousin must be on the way.

Now I was alone. The sounds of the camp were muffled through the thick material that the hut was made of and which also repelled most of the midday heat. I now began to cry softly - hot tears of anger, mingled with a little fear. I was a slave now. I understood that much. I arched my back and pressed the back of my head against the pole that I was bound to, trying to calm down. My stubbornness and royal pride were now regaining control over my emotions and I was determined not to let my new "Master" see me cry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Captive Of Greece**

No sooner had I regained my wits and composure than I heard the flap in the doorway being moved aside and the voice of the blue eyed man telling Achilles that the men thought I would "amuse" him. If I could have stretched that far, I would have buried my face in my raised knees, but I could not. I fixed my gaze on a dark spot on the wall opposite me. With my peripheral vision, I could make out the form of the golden warrior from the temple. He took a long drink from a water pitcher then threw the rest down his back. He looked younger than the other man and had it been different circumstances, I would have been quite taken by his beauty. Even with a layer of blood and grime allover him one could easily see his chiseled jaw and muscular body, fashioned by the gods. But I was too frightened and angry to notice just then. I set my jaw and kept my eyes focused on that most enlightening dark spot on the wall.

The older man was given a grunt of dismissal. When he had gone, a weary sigh escaped the tall, golden warrior's lips. I cautiously glanced sideways at him but turned back quickly, my face hot with discomfort. He was meticulously removing his blood stained armor, stripping to nothing before me. I remember wondering if he had no sense of decency.

"What is your name?"

I jumped when his voice broke the silence. It was not an unkind voice but my mind wasn't working. I was too angry. I turned my head, intending fix him with one of my looks - the kind that made the palace slaves cower - but instead, I found myself caught in his intense, blue gaze, unable to turn back away. I finally managed to tear my eyes away and refocus them on that same dark spot on the wall.

"Did you not hear me?" His tone said that he was not used to being disobeyed or ignored, yet betrayed a note of wonder at my daring.

"You killed Apollo's priests!" I blurted angrily, unsure at my own refusal to tell him my name.

"I've killed men in five countries; never a priest." Now his voice sounded tired or stretched, but anger still clouded my compassion.

"Then your men did! The sun god will have his vengeance."

"What is he waiting for?" he continued in that same, tired tone, seemingly unmoved or impressed by my wrath, or perhaps he was simply wishing for an end to my outbursts.

"The right time to strike."

He calmly continued to clean himself up, washing the sand and blood from his hands and face in a basin. "His priests are dead." He began to rinse his torso as he continued. "And his acolyte's a captive. I think your god is afraid of me." As he finished, he leaned, completely naked, over the basin and fixed me with those eyes again, daring me to have an answer.

I started trembling in my rage. How dare he speak that way of the sun god! "Afraid?! Apollo is master of the sun! He fears nothing!"

"Then where is he?" He spread his arms as if inviting a bolt of lightning to strike, or the god to appear before him.

His mocking tone cut through whatever semblance of composure or wisdom I had left. "You're nothing but a killer!" I screamed and turned my face away from him again. "You wouldn't know anything about the gods."

Because my face was turned away, I didn't see the hand full of water he flung at me, until the large droplets landed on me. Startled, I flinched, which in turn pulled on my bound wrists. A hiss of pain escaped my lips.

"I know more about the gods than your priests." he said quietly – too quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him tie a sarong around his hips as he continued, speaking as if to an insolent child. "I've seen them."

I caught my breath. So the rumors were true – he was an immortal and part god. I should have been more afraid than I allowed myself to be.

"You're royalty, aren't you?" He sounded like he already knew so I said nothing. "You've spent years talking down to men."

I started silently praying for a miraculous rescue as he came nearer. He touched my hair like one would a pet dog before he lifted a long, curly lock to his face and sniffed the scented oils that my maidservants had poured over me after my bath the day before. He wasn't cruel or lewd in his manner and didn't pull my hair hard. He let it drop before he spoke again.

"You must be royalty." He turned back away, seemingly disgusted. "What's your name?" His voice was more demanding this time as he watched my reaction over his shoulder.

I almost answered, but caught his look and stopped myself, setting my jaw.

He walked over and crouched next to me. I was transfixed, unable to look away from those bright blue eyes.

"Even the servants of Apollo have names." His voice was marked with mixture of kindness and impatience. As he spoke, he reached behind me.

I closed my eyes and tensed, ready for my inevitable death. The rope on my wrists loosened and my eyes flew open in surprise. I watched him toss the rope aside and I tentatively began to rub my wrists. "Briseis." I said in a sulky tone.

"Are you afraid, Briseis?"

"Should I be?" I asked.

The older warrior from earlier called from the doorway. Achilles looked annoyed at the interruption, but I was thankful for it.

"Agamemnon 'requests' your presence, Sir."

Thank the gods those hypnotic eyes turned from me!

"The kings are gathering to celebrate the victory," he continued.

Achilles gave a derisive snort, then looked back at me as he spoke to the warrior. "You fought well today, Eudorus."

"My lord." There was a smile in the old warrior's voice as he inclined his head in thanks, then backed out of the hut.

When he was gone I looked back to my captor. "What do you want here in Troy? You didn't come for the Spartan queen."

He spoke as if it should've been obvious. "I want what all men want. I just want it more."

Glory. The unspoken word left a bitter taste in my mouth. Too many men have, and will die for those damned twin muses, Fortune and Glory.

He looked away and stood to his feet. "You don't need to fear me, girl." He was removing his sarong to get dressed and I felt myself blush. He looked over his shoulder after sliding a leather breastplate over his head. "You're the only Trojan who can say that."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Slave Of Agamemnon**

After he left, I sat wondering what was expected of me. I thought of escape, but one peek around the skin that was the door of his hut and I knew that escape was not an option, yet. I thought of tidying up, but my royal stubbornness won over. I refused to do anything that I wasn't _forced_ to do, so I settled down on a pile of furs and fell asleep. At first I wasn't sure what had awakened me. I looked around, expecting to see one of Achilles' men tending to some business, or even the golden warrior himself, but it was neither. Just as my eyes focused on the two men in Grecian armor, they grabbed me and roughly hauled me to my feet. They half led, half dragged me back through the Greek camps to the very middle of the captured beach. We waited in the shadow of a three tiered tent that had been erected over the deck of a beached ship until someone called from within.

Two men were facing off angrily as I was forced inside. One was my master, the other, a fat man of considerable rank, judging by his clothes and armor. The lewd sneer on his face made my skin crawl as he spoke. "The spoils of war."

There was a strange look on Achilles' face when he saw them manhandle me into the room. Fear, perhaps? Was the mighty Achilles afraid for me? The other man's comment though caused my master's blue eyes to harden. He set his jaw before turning to the soldiers that still held me by the arms. "I have no argument with you, Brothers." His voice was cold and almost frightening. "But if you don't release her, you'll never see home again. Decide!"

The two holding me loosened their grips, but had not quite let go when the other man called for his guards. There was a ringing of steel and pounding feet on all sides as men hurried to obey their master's call.

Achilles' sword was suddenly in his hand and he stood in a battle stance, his back to a wall. He was hopelessly outnumbered, yet he stood ready to fight for me. I couldn't stand it any more. I ripped my arms free and jumped forward. "Stop! Too many men have died today." I turned my eyes to my master. "If killing is your only talent, then that's your curse. I don't want anyone dying for me."

With an angry hiss, Achilles stood up straight and changed his grip on his sword.

The fat man began to chuckle. "Mighty Achilles; silenced by a slave girl."

Once again I was captivated by the blue eyes of the half-god as he began to pace the floor, seething with rage.

The other man, seeing his agitation stepped toward me while verbally taunting him. "Tonight, I'll have her give me a bath."

I shuddered at the thought.

"And then..." The loathsome man grasped a fist full of my hair, less gently than Achilles had, and when he sniffed at it, it had a very different meaning.

The golden warrior turned to look at him, pure hatred in his eyes.

"Who knows," the man finished with a nasty smile.

"You sack of wine!" The helplessness in Achilles' curse almost made me forgive him for the day's shed blood – almost. He turned and held his sword out, the point level with the other man's nose. "Before my time is done, I will look down on your corpse and smile." With that, he stormed from the tent, the soldiers scattering to get out of his way, none wanting be the one to meet his blade that night.

The horrible man who was now my master looked frightened as he ordered the guards to lock me up in the hull of the ship.

As soon as we were out of earshot, I begged my captors to let me walk, swearing that I wouldn't try to run. They took pity on me and relented, letting go of my arms completely and allowing me to walk between them. When they pushed me into the dark chamber, it was not in a spirit of malice or cruelty, more like a firm hand in my back. I whirled and grabbed the door before they could shut me away in the darkness. "Please!" I begged of them. "Please tell me who my master is. Who was the man that Achilles would not strike?"

"Girl, your master is King Agamemnon."

My grip on the door slipped and I began to tremble as dread settled into the pit of my stomach. The door closed, plunging me into darkness. I hugged myself as the tears finally broke through. I started unconsciously stepping backward until my back encountered a wall. I slid down it until I was sitting on the floor, my knees to my chest. What would happen to me now? As I sat there crying, my imagination began to come up with its own answers to my fears and each thing that could happen to me was worse than the last until I fell into a restless sleep.

I don't know how long I was there, alone in the dark. When someone came to bring me food, the sunlight behind the slave girl was nearly blinding.

"I've brought you some bread and leftover wine from last night's feast," she whispered. "It's not much, but it's all I could bring that wouldn't be missed. The king and most of the soldiers have gone to battle at the city gates, or I wouldn't have been able to bring it at all."

I would have thanked her, had I heard past the words "city gates". The war had finally reached the city. I tried to pray for the safety of the people and especially my family, but my faith was beginning to waver. She tried to offer me a weak smile and I choked out a thank you before the door closed, plunging me back into the dark silence. I tried to eat, but the lump in my throat caused me to choke. I was able to get some of the wine to go down, but it didn't settle well in my empty stomach. Eventually, I fell asleep again.

I don't know how long I slept, but I was roughly awakened when the same two men from before hauled me to my feet and none too gently dragged me out of my dark hole. I struggled to find my voice; to plead for answers to what was happening, but all that I could get out were a few squeaks. I was dragged out onto the beach. It was dark and large bonfires were raging all around. I was roughly shoved into a prone position on the sand, before an angry and tired looking group of men. "A gift from your King!" someone said and my breath caught. Rough hands grabbed me and my night of terror began.

I will not tell you what I suffered that night. It was too terrible even for me to even think of. I was growing weaker by the second. I was pushed around a circle, each man roughly caressing places that should not be touched or beating me. This went on for a long time. My head was throbbing, as were my new bruises and cuts. I could barely breathe, my screams having quieted to whimpers between gasps.

"Come on! Give [her] to me!" I was shoved roughly toward one of the men who caught me just before I would have stumbled onto my face. He lifted me around my middle, letting me flail about helplessly and gasp for air, making sure that his hands touched both of my breasts lewdly. "Who's next, then?" he called.

"Here!" someone else answered. I was shoved toward him. He hissed terrible things in my ear.

They finally grew tired of that game. "What's this?" someone else asked sarcastically, grabbing at the fabric of my robes right in front of my thighs. "A virgin's robe!"

"You won't be needing that for much longer!"

"Hold her!"

Two men of the men roughly grabbed my arms, pulling them in opposite directions. I tried to struggle free, but too much of my strength was gone. They were laughing and enjoying their helpless prey. One of them stepped forward with a branding iron. I pulled one arm free enough to smack him. He recovered quickly and kneed me in the stomach. The pain was blinding and I truly couldn't breathe. Before I could run, they were on me again, this time, holding my arms tighter. The one with the branding iron stepped forward again poised to press the red hot metal against my outstretched arm as someone pushed up the sleeve of my robe, exposing my bare skin.

"Better to be a Spartan slave than a Trojan-"

"Achilles!" someone shouted.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 Prey Of Sparta**

I was dropped unceremoniously to the sand. I caught bits and pieces of the very short battle as I danced between consciousness and darkness. I tried to regain my feet, but had only managed to struggle to my knees when I felt the golden warrior's hands gently lifting me into his arms. He carried me like a child across the beach and into his hut. Once inside, I began to struggle weakly. "Put me down." I gasped in little more than a whisper. This didn't seem to affect him until he'd reached his destination and he set me down gently on a pile of furs. In fact, he even shushed at me like one would a child. I scrambled back from him, anger replacing the fear in my heart, though I couldn't have said why.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, as he picked up a basin of water and set it near me. He repositioned himself on his haunches before dropping a cloth into the water. I scooted farther back from him and hit the wall of the hut. "I watched you fight them," he said calmly, ignoring my look of indignation as he wrung out the cloth. "You have courage."

"To fight back when people attack me?" I asked, incredulously. "A dog has that kind of courage."

He made a face that I couldn't quite read before it was gone, then reached forward with the damp cloth to try to wipe away some of the blood and grime. I smacked his hand away. He grimaced and tried again. A second time I smacked his hand away from me. Frustrated, he tossed the cloth in my general direction. It hit my shoulder. I took all my pent up rage out on him then, throwing the cloth back at him with all my meager strength. With a resigned sigh, he dropped it back into the basin before turning halfway from me and looking down at a platter of fruit beside him. It was a long stretch for me to catch the edge of the cloth and wring it out, far less as well as Achilles had done it to begin with. I wondered why I was behaving so childishly toward the man who had just saved my life as I dabbed at the blood on my face.

"Eat," he said holding the platter out to me. I froze and stared at him. With another sigh, he set it down at my feet.

"I've known men like you my whole life." I said, more to convince myself, than him.

He looked at me with those eyes. Gods, why do they affect me so? There was a tiny hint of a smile on his face, making him look rather boyish. "No you haven't."

"You think you're so different from a thousand others? Soldiers understand nothing but war. Peace confuses them."

"You hate these soldiers," he stated, rolling a grape around in his fingers.

"I pity them."

He turned completely to face me. "Trojan soldiers died trying to protect you. Perhaps they deserve more than your pity."

His remarks stung. He was right, though I hated to admit it. I hesitated while I collected my thoughts. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep my indignant anger alive. I dabbed at my bruised lips before speaking again. "Why did you choose this life?"

"What life?"

"To be a great warrior." I said, with a grand air.

"I chose nothing. I was born; this is what I am. And you. Why did you choose to love a god? I think you'll find the romance... One sided."

Gods preserve! He had a look like Paris used to get when he was up to something. "Do you enjoy provoking me?" I asked.

"You've dedicated your life to the gods-Zeus, god of thunder; Athena, goddess of wisdom. You serve them."

"Yes, of course." I couldn't imagine where he was going with this.

"And Ares, god of war? Who blankets his bed with the skins of men he's killed?"

That's where. I struggled for an answer. When it finally came, it was weak, even to my ears. "All the gods are to be feared and respected." I finally replied, leaning forward to drop the cloth back into the basin. I turned my eyes away from his intense gaze and shyly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

He moved till he caught my eyes again then leaned forward. "I'll tell you a secret," he whispered. "Something they don't teach you in your temple." Whether I liked it or not, he had my full attention now. He scooted slightly closer to me and I wished that I could back up. "The gods envy us," he said quietly. I know my face must have been a mask of shock, for that tiny grin widened slightly as he continued. "They envy us because we're mortal; because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful, because we're doomed. You'll never be lovelier than you are now; and we will never be here again."

I was shocked silent. I could come up with nothing witty to say. To cover my embarrassment, I reached for a grape on the platter. "I thought you were a dumb brute" I said at last, with a half chuckle. I bit into the grape and tucked the bite under my tongue. "I could have forgiven a dumb brute."

He gave an amused snort then left the hut for a while. I used the free time to bathe and nurse my injuries, between bites of fruit. I grew bolder and moved about the space, examining things and admiring the craftsmanship. That's how I came across the knife. Tired though I was, my mind started to form a plan. I finished cleaning myself up, then lay down on the firs, hiding the knife among them. I would rest for now and wait for just the right moment...

When he returned he must have thought I was a sleep on the furs, for after glancing my way once, he said nothing and began to undress. I was watching him through my hair and half closed eyes. He lay down; completely nude on his own bed, atop his cover fur for the night was very warm.

I was increasingly grateful that he couldn't see my face, for my cheeks and insides felt hot and I was sure that I was blushing scarlet. He lay still for hours. When his breathing finally changed, I waited a few more minutes before creeping toward him, the knife clutched in my hand. He never stirred as I slunk toward him, nor as I stood over him. I put the blade at his throat, ready to slice his jugular open.

"Do it," he ordered quietly.

I froze, shocked, as he opened his eyes and turned them on me. I couldn't do it, not when those hypnotic blue orbs were looking at me.

"Nothing is easier," he continued in the same tone.

"Aren't you afraid?" I gasped.

"Everyone dies," he answered, his voice intense. "Today or fifty years from now, what does it matter?" He slowly reached up and grabbed my shoulders. "Do it!" He gave me a slight shake and it was a wonder he didn't get cut.

"You'll kill more men if I don't kill you." I was again trying to convince myself more than him.

"Many." He confirmed.

I hesitated too long and he flipped me smoothly over, the blade still at his throat. Ignoring it, he leaned in to kiss me, as I felt one of his hands draw my robes up to my thighs. The rest happened so fast. I'm not sure when I dropped the knife, all I remember is a jumble of feelings - shock at myself for letting him do this to me; surprise that he was actually doing it; and crowding out all others, the desire for him to never stop.


	5. Chapter 5

**You folks know the drill... I own none of the characters (Homer did), I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I get no money from any of this, it was just a chance to see what kind of writer I might be. So please don't sue me, you won't get anything anyhow. Read and eanjoy (or cringe)!**

**Chapter 5 Guest Of Achilles**

I didn't wake until noon the next day. Everything was quiet. I stretched and rolled over to find Achilles watching me. For a moment I was frightened. I was a slave after all. What if I was going to be punished for not getting up and serving him?

He smiled contentedly at me. "Are you rested?"

I lowered my gaze, still a little frightened. "Yes."

"When you feel like getting up, there is a tunic - it's probably too large, but it's the best I could find." He inclined his head to the side. I turned my head slightly till I could see the fabric draped over something. "And food here. Feel free to go outside, but I strongly suggest that you stay within the bounds of the Myrmidon camp." He got to his feet and left the hut.

I got up then and put on the tunic. As he suspected, it was too large for me, but it was clean and it covered everything that should be covered. It was greenish yellow in color and was not cut in the least like my white and blue robes. That's when it hit me. I was no longer a priestess. Perhaps the gods would forgive me, but I was no longer a virgin, therefore, no longer a priestess. It saddened me deeply, until the smell of food brought my attention to the refilled platter of fruit, and a small bowl of goats' milk beside it. There was also some cold meat and bread on another plate. After I had eaten my fill, I wandered about and actually caught myself straightening things up. I didn't stop. I was no longer a princess. I was a slave. I did finally get bored of sitting, waiting for Achilles to return and ventured past the flap. None of the men gave me a second glance, nor moved to accost me. I was free to roam the camp as he had said. I walked down to the water's edge, where the waves met the sand. The sun was warm on my bruised body and the water cool to my bare feet. The wind blew my tangled hair across my face. It felt oddly exhilarating to be a slave. Perhaps I was going insane. I felt eyes on me and I turned to see Patroclus walking toward me.

"I found something in our stores and thought that you might like to have it," he called as he drew nearer. He held out something both wood and silver.

When I took it from him, I saw that it was a comb. I thanked him and asked if there was anything that was expected of me.

He gave me a curious look. "Why would there be?" Someone called for him and he hurried away, leaving me alone again. I made my way back to my master's hut, wondering what game he was playing at now. He still wasn't there, so I settled on the pile of furs and began to comb out my hair. I eventually fell asleep again.

That evening after supper, Achilles sat on his bed and held his hand out to me. I somehow knew that I could refuse. He would never force me, I knew that now. The fact was that I wanted to be with him. I wanted him to hold me and touch me.  
During a lull in our lovemaking, I looked deeply into his eyes. "Am I still your captive?"

He smiled warmly. "You're a guest."

"In Troy, a guest can leave whenever they want."

"You should leave then."

Neither of us moved.

I reached up to touch his chiseled jaw. By the powers of the gods! He was the most beautiful man I'd ever known. Lovelier even then Hector and Paris, whom till now I'd sworn, in a rather biased way, were the most beautiful men in the world. How could one man affect me so by simply fixing me in his blue gaze? "Would you leave this all behind?"

He knew what I meant. Would he abandon his quest for glory and stop with the fighting and warring? His answer silenced me. "Would you leave Troy?"

Would I? Could I? I didn't know. On one hand, what was here for me now? I was disgraced. I could not return to my post as a priestess of Apollo, nor would any Trojan man wish to marry me now. I would live out my days as an old maid in the palace. But on the other hand, there was my family; my uncle and cousins. They probably thought that I was dead, murdered in the temple. And Andromache... Hector's lovely wife was a close friend whom I loved dearly, and their little son. He was the next generation of Trojan princes. Could I leave and not watch him grow up to chase the girls like his Uncle Paris, or lead an army gallantly to victory like his father? Could I leave it all behind? I didn't know, so I said nothing and snuggled closer to my host, relishing the feel and smell of him. I would decide in the morning.

We were awakened some time later by the sounds of battle and a strange roar. Achilles leapt from the bed and threw on a sarong before grabbing his sword and running from the hut. I slipped my oversized tunic over my head and cautiously exited as well.

He half turned, warning me back with an outstretched arm.

"What is it?" I asked, frightened.

"The Greeks are being attacked," he answered, finally allowing me to come to him. He put one arm protectively around my shoulders as we watched the sky glow from burning tents and ships. "That is why we camped away from them. We should be safe." He charged his men to watchfulness before leading me back into the hut. "I am leaving these shores tomorrow," he said, as he returned his sword. He sat on the edge of the bed before continuing. "My men and I are returning home. I ask you to come... As my wife."

I gasped.

"I will not force you to come. I am asking. If you do not wish to leave Troy, I will personally drive you to the city gates in my chariot and return you to your family."

The time had come to decide, and I was no closer to the answer than I had been some hours before. "I don't know." I whispered.

He nodded and held his hand out to me. I again went to him and he held me tightly for the rest of the night. It was as if he were wordlessly trying to convince me to go with him, or he was simply savoring his remaining time with me.

Little did we know as we lay there together, that Fate had already decided for me and in the morning, the world as I knew it would never return.


	6. Chapter 6

**You folks know the drill... I own none of the characters (Homer did), I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I get no money from any of this, it was just a chance to see what kind of writer I might be. So please don't sue me, you won't get anything anyhow. Read and eanjoy (or cringe)!**

**Chapter 6: Briseis Of Tears**

We awoke the next morning to an eerie silence. I suppose that it was the absence of sound that awoke us, for the battle raged all morning after a night long bombardment of the Greeks. Neither of us wanted to face the day and the decisions that must be made, so we put off the world for a little while longer.

"Achilles," someone called from outside. Neither of us had undressed after the bombardment began. So he simply got up and stepped out. I was going to wait for him, but something didn't feel right, so I followed. I hesitated once I was half way out, but finally emerged completely, yet didn't advance.

The older man, Eudorus was facing the golden warrior, with a look of utter terror. Achilles was accusing him of leading the Myrmidons into combat.

"I didn't lead them, my lord. We thought you did."

Achilles looked like he was going to choke and began to look about the camp. "Where's Patroclus?" he asked quietly. No one moved or answered so with a louder voice he called for the young man. "Patroclus!"

The older Myrmidon was on his knees before Achilles, looking as if he were about to weep. "We thought he was you, my lord. He wore your armor, your shield, your greaves, your helmet. He even moved like you."

I could tell by the tenseness in my love's stance that he was becoming angry and what little I could see of his face was growing harder by the second, and more panicked. "Where is he?" he shouted, lashing out and striking Eudorus hard across the face, knocking him to the sand. This was bad. I was frightened for the man and began dashing forward, but didn't try to stop it, yet. "Where?" Achilles sounded desperate, almost pleading.

"He- he's dead, my lord. Hector cut his throat."

I choked on my own breath, but I didn't have time to consider the gravity of this statement, for my love lashed out again, this time with his foot, crushing the other man's throat beneath it. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else dying. I had to stop it. "Don't! Don't!" I pleaded, rushing forward, expecting to embrace and comfort Achilles, but his hand caught me by the throat before I reached him. I gasped from the shock, but no air was getting in. Gods spare me! I thought I was going to die by the hand of the man I had come to love. I whimpered as the tears rose, but before I blacked out he threw me to the ground beside Eudorus. He stepped back, murder shining in his blue eyes, I was trembling as he turned from us and picked up a sword, but instead of turning back and killing us, he stormed away.

The men scrambled to get out of his path.

When he was gone, everyone returned silently to the duties they had abandoned to follow their supposed leader to the battle. No one spoke to or even looked at me as I curled up on the warm sand and wept. I knew now what would happen. I didn't want it to, but I could tell it would. One of the men I loved; either my cousin Hector, who was like a brother to me, or my love, was going to die, soon. I'm not sure how long I lay there in the sand and cried all the pent up tears for my family and country. Before, my tears had been about myself and what would happen to me. I no longer cared. My family was in danger now, and if anything happened to Hector, I feared that the city would fall with him. If Hector died, so would Troy, for my uncle was old and weak, and Paris... Paris was nothing but a hopeless romantic who did not command the respect of the army, nor did he have the know-how to lead them. My world was crashing to bits all around me.

The chill wind and lengthening shadows of evening brought me out of myself. I cautiously entered the hut. Achilles wasn't there. Relieved, I hurried to clean myself up and straighten anything I could find out of place. I had just sat down on the pile of furs in the corner, hugging my knees to my chest when he finally returned. Without a word to me, he changed from his dirty, sweat soaked robes to his light leather armor. He dug around until he found some other items that he sought and left again. He didn't look at me even once and the expression on his face was frightening. It was set and cold like stone. I waited a few minutes before following him out to where he had built his cousin's funeral pyre. He was now preparing the body. I would have offered to help, but I was too frightened. All the Greeks were gathering as the sun settled into its bed of darkness. I stood afar off and watched through silent tears as I offered what prayers I could for the boy's safe passage.

Once the fire was lit under the body, most of the Greeks and even the Myrmidons quietly dispersed; except for myself, Achilles, and Eudorus. Eventually, even he turned away and stared back to camp, when he came to me, he gently turned my shoulders and led me back to my love's hut. "Do not expect him tonight, and if you see him in the morning, I suggest you stay out of his way, unless he speaks to you first." I nodded my understanding and he sat down just outside the door. I eventually cried myself to sleep on the pile of furs.

I awoke early at the sound of Achilles' voice. "Eudorus."

"My Lord." I heard feet scraping sand as he scrambled to his feet.

"I need my armor."

I whimpered and turned my face to the wall, refusing to even look at him when he entered.

"Briseis. Out."

I got up and hurried out. I didn't go far, though. I found a place out of the way, but where I could see everything, and there I sat to collect my thoughts.

Someone was leading Achilles' chariot to meet him as he stepped from the hut, wearing his full suit of armor. I started running to try one last time to stop him.

Eudorus stepped onto the chariot behind my love, but he was ordered down.

"Don't go!" I pleaded as I neared the chariot.

He ignored me. "Rope!"

"Hector's my cousin. He's a good man." I was nearly crying again as I pleaded for Hector's life. "Don't fight him! _Please_, don't fight him!" I could see that my pleas were falling on ears of cold stone, but I couldn't stop. "_Please_!"

He didn't even look at me. He picked up the reigns and drove away as dread settled into the pit of my stomach. I had failed. I had failed to save my cousin from Achilles, and my love from himself. Eudorus lightly patted my shoulder then turned and walked away. I stood for some time, not knowing what to do, till an echo carried over the sands reached my ears. Achilles was calling out my cousin. I covered my ears, but I couldn't block out the sound of grief mixed with anger as he screamed for Hector to come out. With a cry, I ran into the hut and threw myself onto the furs and covered my head.


	7. Chapter 7

**You folks know the drill... I own none of the characters (Homer did), I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I get no money from any of this, it was just a chance to see what kind of writer I might be. So please don't sue me, you won't get anything anyhow. Read and eanjoy (or cringe)!**

**Chapter 7 Princess Of Troy**

I had stayed sitting quietly on the furs but when he stepped through the doorway, I knew. I knew that my cousin was dead. The look on the golden warrior's face said it all. My heart leapt to my throat and I began to gasp. He looked at me and I thought that I would be next, but he turned away and began his ritual washing as I lost control and my gasps became sobs.

I covered my ears with my hands and curled up into a ball, waiting for him to leave again, or tell me that I could. But he never spoke. He turned and looked at me before sitting on the edge of his bed. Silence surrounded us for hours on end. My tears dried up. I had no more to cry and I felt empty.

Some time later, Achilles had moved to a sitting position on the floor of the hut, sharpening his sword. The sound of the whetting stone grated into my brain. I finally broke the silence. I spoke first and I let my anger overcome my fear. "You lost your cousin. Now you've taken mine."

His rhythm never faltered and he remained silent.

"When does it end?" I asked.

"It never ends." His eyes never left his sword blade, though his arm stopped.

That was it then. That was the answer. This was what Fate had deemed for me; to love a man enough to abandon my service to the gods, only to find that he was a murderer - only to find that I hated him. I stood to my feet as the ringing swoosh of the whetting stone returned.

He said nothing.

I walked out.

He said nothing.

No one stopped me and no one seemed care where I went. I could have vanished into the countryside, but I walked instead to the water's edge. I hugged myself and considered throwing myself into Poseidon's kingdom. But what good would it do? Would it bring my cousin back? Would it put an end to my anguish? No. My grief in the underworld would remain, and because of Achilles' cruelty, my cousin would never reach it and no matter how angry I was, how much I loathed the golden warrior, I knew that I would still love him; and that was the cruelest torture that Fate could have given me. My tears were all gone, but I wanted to cry. I stared out at the moon reflected on the restless waves, wanting to die; wanting to live; wishing I'd killed Achilles when I had the chance, before he took everything from me. I sank to the sand and just sat there. No one came for me. I was there for at least an hour and no one came looking.

A voice brought me back to the cruel, real world - a voice I had never hoped to hear again. My uncle was on the beach. My uncle was near. I turned from my contemplation of suicide and ran to find him. Had Fate decided for me that I was to return to my place as a princess of Troy and live out my days alone? I ran to my uncle. He was speaking to Achilles and saw me coming over the warrior's shoulder.

"Briseis?"

I sighed as my uncle embraced me. He had been crying, I could tell and seeing me opened the floodgates again. His voice cracked as he spoke of believing me to be dead.

"No, Uncle." I whispered. He saw the rope burns on my wrists, the bruises on my arms, and the scratches on my face. He knew. I was a slave now. He and I both turned to Achilles; he for permission to take me; I for an explanation of my uncle's presence.

"You are free." He said quietly, inclining his head to his waiting chariot.

I looked to my uncle, then back to the man I loved. I was torn again. His eyes were no longer hard and angry, but sad, and maybe even lonely. I walked up to him as my uncle went to the chariot. I wanted to say something, but no words would come. I wanted him to hold me like before and tell me that everything was going to be alright, but he too was struggling for words.

"If I hurt you," he was choking on the words, but trying to hide it. "It's not what I wanted."

I started to say something but he took my hand and dropped something hard and smooth into it. I looked down. It was a shell necklace. I realized then that it was the same one that Patroclus had worn. I looked up to question him, but again, no words would come.

He put his other had over mine, gently closing my fingers over the necklace.

Speechless, I could only place my other hand over his.

"Go," he whispered.

I saw tears glinting in his blue eyes as he turned to Uncle Priam. "No one will stop you. You have my word."

"Come, my girl." my uncle said when I continued to hesitate.

I obeyed woodenly, looking back at Achilles.

"You are a far better king than the one leading this army," he called after us as my uncle helped me to step up into the chariot.

Uncle Priam said nothing, but his look spoke volumes before he turned forward and picked up the reigns.

I looked over my shoulder and stared, transfixed into my love's eyes until I couldn't see him any more.

While the men prepared Hector's body, Helen and Andromache helped me bathe and dressed me in the dark blue gown worn by royals in mourning. When they left for a moment, I put on Patroclus' necklace. I know they noticed, but nothing was said. I was wooden at the ceremony, and my eyes dry as I watched my cousin's funeral pyre. I had already cried my last tear. I was empty. For twelve days I felt nothing, ate little and slept less. For twelve days the city mourned their prince.

On the twelfth day a rider came to the gates. The Greeks were gone. Apollo had finally taken his vengeance by casting a plague upon them and they were fleeing home. They had left a large wooden horse on the beach to please Poseidon.

Paris told me the news himself before going to stand with Helen. He had wanted to burn it. He said that when he looked at it he had seen death. But Uncle Priam, as always, listened to the priests, and brought it into the city. When I saw it being dragged into the city and the Trojan people celebrating our victory with drinking and reveling, I too saw death written on that black wooden beast.

I didn't sleep that night. I sat and listened to the sounds of the night fall over my doomed city. For twelve days I was again a princess of Troy; but on the thirteenth, the city waould be no more.


	8. Chapter 8

**You folks know the drill... I own none of the characters (Homer did), I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I get no money from any of this, it was just a chance to see what kind of writer I might be. So please don't sue me, you won't get anything anyhow. Read and eanjoy (or cringe)!**

**Chapter 8 Lover Of Achilles**

I was one of the first to know, but even then it was too late. The cry wasn't raised until the gates had been opened and the city flooded with Greeks, eager for the slaughter. They were burning, looting, and murdering their way to the palace.

I ran first to my uncle's room, but he was not there. "Uncle!" I cried as I ran through the palace, frantic to find my family and calling their names. "Paris! Andromache!" People were running in all directions, screaming in fright, calling for their loved ones, or just fleeing for their lives. I turned a corner. "Paris!"

I was nearly run over by my uncle's white stallion as it raced through the chaos, confused and just as frightened as I. I leaned against a pillar and gasped for breath as it passed me, then returned to my search. "Uncle Priam!"

I passed a window that looked out over the city. _Gods preserve us!_ The temples were burning, people were screaming and Greek soldiers were nearly to the base of the palace steps. "Andromache! Paris where are you?"

The throne room. Perhaps my uncle was there. I ran until I thought I could run no longer and my throat burned from screaming the names of my family. I heard fighting ahead. I called again. "Paris! Paris!" I couldn't get to the throne room, for the battle was raging just outside the door.

I felt like a lost child. Where was my family? I turned then to my last sanctuary. I ran to the gardens, where small shrines had been built to the gods, in little alcoves all around the wall. I fled down the grassy path and threw myself at the feet of Apollo. I knelt there, rocking like a frightened child and prayed as I had never prayed before. I prayed that I would find my family and that there would be some way to escape. I prayed that he would be stronger than Fate.

A terrible voice interrupted me and I gasped, for it was a voice that I will never forget.

"Too late for prayer, Priestess." King Agamemnon hissed in my ear then roughly grabbed a fistful of my hair and he hauled me to my feet. When I was standing, I tried to pry his hand away. He suddenly let go and grabbed my neck and chin, not cutting off my air, but immobilizing me as he lifted up, forcing me to stand on tiptoe. "I almost lost this war because of your little romance."

No one but Paris knew of the nightmare I'd had the night before. No one but Paris knew that I now carried a dagger up my sleeve. I dropped my hands straight down at my sides, letting its hilt fall into my hand. I carefully adjusted my grip.

"You will be my slave in Mycenae." He growled. "A Trojan priestess scrubbing my floors."

I angled the dagger as he -bless the gods- turned me around, forcing me away from the statues of Apollo, and my back to his guards.

"And at night," He was smiling evilly at me.

He thought that I was the same spoiled princess that he had first seen, but I was not. He had known a child. Now he was threatening a woman. I didn't let him finish telling me what he would do to me and it was gratifying to see the look of terror that crossed his face as my blade plunged to its hilt into his neck. He tried to catch my hand, but it was too late. When he fell to his knees, I slipped away from him and tried to run.

One of the guards grabbed me by the back of the neck as I passed and shoved me to my knees in the grass. When the other guard was ready, he jerked me to my feet and shoved me to his partner. I struggled. I was no longer weak, I would die fighting.

"Hold her."

He was poised to plunge his sword into my body, but he never got to. A golden warrior with black leather armor sliced the soldier's throat.

The one holding me threw me down and tried to attack my rescuer. He died quickly.

I looked up into the eyes of my beloved.

"Come with me." He said, gently lifting me to my feet.

I smiled. My eyes slipped past him and my heart stopped. "No-o-o-o!"

Paris' arrow flew amiss and instead of hitting Achilles in the back, it pierced his heel.

My beloved fell to his knees, nearly dropping me. His head was thrown back in pain, and he was struggling to draw in breath, as if he'd been hit in the lung.

"Paris!" I cried.

Achilles moved to defend me from this new threat, but my cousin was quicker. He drew another arrow and fired.

I couldn't move, just scream. "No!"

He wasn't listening to my screams and this one flew true, burying its head in Achilles' ribs.

My golden warrior pulled it out as Paris fitted another arrow to the string.

I watched, stunned as my beloved stalked forward, another arrow hitting him in nearly the same place.

"Stop! Please!" I screamed to Paris, but he didn't hear me.

Another arrow found its mark.

I regained my feet and ran toward my cousin, still pleading. "Paris, don't!"

A third arrow was now sticking out of my golden warrior and he was stumbling. He fell to his knees and jerked the arrows from his body. I realized that he was dying and that the only way to make Paris listen was to shield my beloved from him. I ran and knelt before Achilles.

He was breathing heavily and his eyes were threatening to glaze over, but he cupped his hands around my face and struggled to meet my eyes.

I found that my tears had returned as they flooded down my cheeks and the lump in my throat threatened to choke me.

He brushed my hair back from my face and cupped it again. "It's all right." He gasped. "It's all right."

I shook my head. I knew that he was dying. If he died too; if I lost everything, it would not be all right.

He lifted a lock of my hair to his face to smell the scented oils one last time, then held me close to him.

I began to sob against his armored chest.

He drew back from me to look into my eyes. "You gave me peace..." He struggled to gain his breath so that he could finish. "In a lifetime of war." He kissed me then.

I never wanted it to end. I never wanted him to release me from his embrace.

"Briseis, come." Paris pleaded, interrupting us.

"Go." Achilles insisted.

I shook my head again. I wasn't going to leave him again.

"You must!" he gasped.

"No."

"Troy is falling. Go."

"No," I whispered again and leaned into him, burying my face into his shoulder, trying to memorize his smell, for that was all I would have of him once I let go.

"We must go!" Paris was pleading again. "I know a way out."

I saw Achilles' eyes when my cousin said this. They brightened for a moment and he cupped my face again, forcing me to look into those hypnotic blue eyes again.

"It's all right." He repeated. "Go."

I leaned in for one last kiss.

"Briseis, come." My cousin was holding out his hand.

"Go." Achilles said again and gently pushed me away.

Woodenly, I stood up, but didn't move to follow my cousin.

He rushed to grab my hand and started to lead me away. He was afraid that I would try to turn back, for he changed hands, and slipped the other around my waist, so that he could hold me back and lead me along with him, no matter if I struggled or not.

I didn't. I was too numb. I didn't think that I would ever feel again.

Paris led me through a labyrinth of secret tunnels and we met up with the group that had left before us. Andromache embraced me and helped me along as we followed the river toward Mount Ida.

But my heart was lying broken in the ruined palace garden, where my beloved Achilles fell. I lived and he died. Part of me died with him, but I was left to face the rest of my life without him. Cruel Fate...

Cruel Fate.


End file.
